Lesbian Dad

I could eat him up with a spoon


Just a split-second in the bath, in between bouts of his being fairly unhappy about the shampoo.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: this boy makes me crazy with love for him. The must bite a chunk out of him while making growly animal sounds kind of love. It’s amazing how qualitatively different the love is that he inspires, compared to that of his sister.

Quantity for both? Infinite, of course.  Or if there’s an ending point to it, I certainly can’t make it out. But the love for one wafts in, like Carl Sandburg’s San Francisco fog, “on little cat feet,” with fairy wings, diaphanous, breathtaking.  This one? A freight train. Carrying lions. So much for worrying about there being enough love to spread around to a second child.  As everyone says, your heart expands, effortlessly, to meet the new production demands.  And because each child is miraculously unique, so will your love for them be.

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